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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28064835">what if we made it</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/justadreamfox/pseuds/justadreamfox'>justadreamfox</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Happy Fucking Birthday [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Birthday Smut, Established Relationship, Gift Fic, M/M, Professional Exy (All For The Game), background ichistu, background kandreil - Freeform, lots of fluff and love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:46:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28064835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/justadreamfox/pseuds/justadreamfox</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is 35 today and his legs may be tired, but he feels like his life is just starting - and Jeremy is determined that his husband is going to get everything he deserves for his birthday. </p>
<p>Happy fucking birthday Jean Moreau.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Happy Fucking Birthday [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055837</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>what if we made it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/vertigo/gifts">vertigo</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Anna said, she said WHY isn't there more JereJean being happy and in love and having sexy times, and I was like - ANNA MY LOVE, YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND. </p>
<p>et, voila. </p>
<p>vroom vroom. </p>
<p>happy fucking birthday darling &lt;3</p>
<p>HUGE thank yous to my cheerleader <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/likearecord/profile">likearecord</a> and my beta destroyer <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/makebelieveanything/">makebelieveanything</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jean startled at the buzzer and then froze in shock, blinking through the remnants of the blood red haze that descended on him when he played exy. His knees are locked, his heavy backliner racket gripped tightly in trembling gloved hands, and all around him his teammates have exploded - whooping and cheering and bouncing into the air because the Wolverines had just won the national championships. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the third year in a row. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had won. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which meant...Jean scanned through the jostling bodies, his ears roaring, until he found two others standing just as still as he, their eyes already on him, understanding settled in the tilt of Kevin’s head, the angle of Neil’s shoulders. Jean’s racket clattered to the floor, his fingers finally going numb. The rest of the Wolverines bounced around the court at fast-forward speed, but Kevin and Neil were walking steadily toward him, a synchronized two-striker tornado, so in tune with each other after playing together for fifteen years - the last five spent on the same team with Jean.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had become unbeatable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was insane. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was time to stop. Past time. Jean and Kevin were the oldest professional exy players still on the court, Andrew and Neil right behind them. And they would have stopped - Jean would have at least. But they couldn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now they could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All they had to do was win this last championship, and that...that had just happened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean’s left knee wobbled. It hurt, it always hurt. Just like his right wrist, the knuckles of his hands, his left ankle, his right rotator cuff. So many things hurt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had won. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had won, and in part they had won because Jean had just played an entire two halves of a professional exy game against the second best team in the nation. Because Alexis and Javier had both injured themselves in the semi-finals, because Graham and Jensen were good, but they weren’t as good as Jean - couldn’t possibly be as good as Jean. Because Anna had mouthed off at a ref in the last game, earned a red card, and with Anna gone that left Jean saddled with second string backliners. And this win, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this win, </span>
  </em>
  <span>could not be risked on second string backliners. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Jean had played the whole fucking game, and now he stood frozen with his knees locked, because if he unlocked them he was going to fall down. He swayed a bit, wished he hadn’t dropped his racket - he could have used it to lean on. The roaring in his ears subsided into white noise and then settled into a faint buzzing, and then Neil and Kevin were in front of him - Neil grinning fiercely, Kevin’s mouth set in a serious line but his eyes were shining. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You fucking idiot I can’t believe you did that,” Kevin said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean thought about shrugging but couldn’t muster the effort. “Not the first Trojan to play a whole game,” he said. “What, you think it’s just for Foxes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neil laughed and stepped closer. “Happy fucking birthday Jean,” he said, and at that Jean’s knees gave out and he would have crumpled except Kevin grabbed his elbow and Neil slid into place next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist, and they caught him, held him up. Jean somehow managed to convince his legs to move, Kevin on one side, Neil on the other, and his friends half carried him off the court. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they stepped out of the inner court, Jean realized he was crying - the cold air of the exit vents slipping through the grill of his face mask and landing on his wet cheeks. If Ichirou Fucking Moriyama appeared and put a gun to his head right then and there and demanded Jean tell him the last time he had cried, he would have died by gunshot, because he had no idea. It had been years. Decades. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was crying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was free. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Happy fucking birthday indeed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy was waiting for him in the locker room, which wasn’t normal behavior for spouses, but even now the name Jeremy Knox carried some weight. Exceptions were made for the Sunshine Boy of Exy, the Trojan captain that led his team to two NCAA championships and played a pared-down roster mano y mano against the Foxes in the most memorable year college exy had seen to date. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But. By the time Jeremy had hit 25, he had no cartilage left in his right knee, and there had been little more that the doctors could do for him. The blazing comet of his professional career winked out in the span of six months and sixty thousand dollars in doctor bills. Jeremy had been devastated, and Jean had punched a hole in the wall of their apartment when he realized that, selfishly, he would have done anything to change places with him - and not just because he wanted Jeremy to be happy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ten years. It would be ten more years. Until now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was free. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neil drifted away once they were through the locker room doors. Andrew was already there, waiting for them, half stripped of his gear. Kevin kept hold of Jean’s elbow until he deposited him into Jeremy’s arms.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least Jean’s face had stopped leaking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy wrapped strong arms around him, squeezing him tight through his padding and armor, and Jean pulled his helmet off roughly and buried his face in his husband’s neck, uncaring of the sweat and tears he was smearing into Jeremy’s skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did it, you did it, you did it, oh my love,” Jeremy murmured into Jean’s hair, and he slid a hand up to clutch tightly at the back of Jean’s head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no one else in the locker room yet - just Jean and Jeremy on this end, and Kevin with Neil and Andrew across the room, giving them a moment. Jean’s legs were shaking and he reluctantly shifted out of Jeremy’s arms, tugged him down to sit beside him on the bench. As Jean slumped, breathless and stunned still, Neil and Kevin and Andrew came to take up residence on the bench in front of them, effectively blocking Jean and Jeremy into the corner, and just at that moment the locker doors exploded inward, the Wolverines crowing with the win. Jean was grateful for the wall of his friends then, their bodies shielding him from the boisterous celebrations, from the questions he wasn’t ready for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been Neil that arranged it. It had always been someone else in charge of Jean’s life - someone that was not Jean. But, he supposed, his life in Neil’s hands had been better than the alternative. Neil had arranged his tithe to the Moriyama’s so many years ago, the tether that kept him on the court whether he willed it or not - and it was Neil who arranged his freedom too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d crossed the street to Jean and Jeremy’s house two weeks ago, Kevin and Andrew in tow as always, to give Jean the hope of cutting his tether once and for all. They were getting old, Neil had said. Well, not old really, but old for exy. Most athletes retired in their early thirties. Kevin and Jean were about to hit 35, Andrew and Neil weren’t far behind. It was time. Kevin wanted to retire before anyone could begin to say he wasn’t the best striker of all time. Neil had a couple more years in him he thought, and he’d take them if he could. Andrew would stay on the court as long as Neil did. It went unsaid that Jean never really wanted to be on the court in the first place. Neil hadn’t discussed a retirement plan so many years ago, sitting in a shiny black car next to the newly minted Lord Moriyama, still focused on fighting for his life - and Jean’s and Kevin’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the strangest turn of events Stuart Hatford and Ichirou Moriyama were together - as in </span>
  <em>
    <span>together</span>
  </em>
  <span> together. Ichirou had split amicably with his wife, taken up with Stuart, and now the Lord Moriyama was a regular fixture at holiday dinners - an arrangement that had started out tense and horrible and slowly morphed into something else entirely, something somehow less tense and not horrible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neil had apparently sat down to negotiations again, their lives in his hands </span>
  <em>
    <span>again,</span>
  </em>
  <span> except this time he was family, courtesy of Stuart. This time, Neil walked out with a chance at freedom. Neil and Jean and Kevin had the blessing of Lord Moriyama to retire when they reached 35, as long as they won the championship that year, and tithed the entirety of their champion bonus to the Moriyamas. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that was it. The end. No more tithes, no more exy. It was a token. A way to save face. A ticket to punch on the way out the door, and with Neil and Kevin and Jean playing for the same team, with Andrew Minyard in goal, well - it had felt inevitable. But not inevitable enough for Jean to risk stepping foot off the court for one moment tonight. His body would pay for that in the next week, but then after. After. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was free. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean made it through the locker room shenanigans in a daze, mostly sitting or propped up by Jeremy. Kevin stood next to him in the showers, holding him up. Jean had waved Jeremy away when he’d asked if he needed him. It wouldn’t be the first time Kevin had held him up, naked or not. No reason for Jeremy to get wet when he was already clean and dry and smelled like bergamot and cedar and home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time Jean was clean and dry too, tucked into soft sweats, his overly long hair curling softly above the edge of his hoodie, most of the locker room had cleared out - his teammates off to celebrate the win with copious amounts of alcohol and sex and food and camaraderie, and Jean planned to get as far away from it as he could. He hadn’t fully blown out his legs, but everything hurt, and the last thing he wanted to do was spend time around anyone that wasn’t Jeremy. He certainly couldn’t conceive of putting on real clothes and a fake smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was happy - he was. But it was. A lot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy hoisted Jean’s bag and draped Jean’s arm over his shoulder. They would have headed out just like that, but Kevin grabbed his elbow, and Jean turned to find green eyes intent on him, searching his face. Jean let his lips turn up into a smile, and Kevin beamed back at him, pulling Jean forward to wrap him in a crushing hug. They clung to each other. It was a long time before they pulled apart, and Jean couldn’t say which one of them let go first. Neil grinned at them. Andrew stood solid and impassive. This trio. His friends, impossibly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come to ours tomorrow?” Kevin asked. “We’ll celebrate. Andrew’s cooking.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean glanced at Jeremy who smiled and nodded. “Okay,” Jean said. “I’d like that. We’ll be there.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neil held out a fist, and Jean bumped it awkwardly, and then he had an arm back around Jeremy’s shoulders and they were out the door, outside the stadium, into the clear and crisp February air, and Jean suddenly realized he would never, ever have to play another exy game again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He huffed a small sound at first, and then a hysterical giggle that morphed into a heartfelt belly laugh that bent him in half, the tears back again at the corners of his eyes. Jeremy leaned against their car next to him and smiled and smiled and Jean loved him so fucking much; when he could finally get his laughter under control he smiled too and then kissed Jeremy into the side of the car. He felt like he might float away and he’d make damned sure that if he did, Jeremy would come with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy drove them, because he always did. They pulled into the parking pad of their Brooklyn brownstone and sat for a moment in the warm SUV, Diana Krall crooning over the stereo, their fingers laced together over the console. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Happy Birthday Jean,” Jeremy said, and Jean wondered at the fact that after more than fifteen years Jeremy’s private voice - the one only Jean got to hear - still sounded like honey and whiskey and sunshine and warmed him from head to toe every time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean let his head loll back on the leather of the seat and looked at his husband. Jeremy kept his incredibly thick honey blond hair in an undercut these days, the top long and messy over his brow, the sides cut close and magnetic to Jean’s fingers. The first time he’d cut it like this Jean couldn’t keep his fingers to himself, and Jeremy would hum in contentment when Jean came up behind him, running his fingers back and forth behind Jeremy’s ears in the soft buzzed hair, soothing both of them. Jeremy had kept it cut that way ever since - he said it suited him - but Jean knew the why of it, really. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy’s eyes looked darker than usual in the car - the sun had gone down hours ago, sometime in the middle of the first half of the game - but that golden brown gaze was imprinted on Jean’s heart, burned like the sun into the back of his eyelids. He knew Jeremy’s eyes just like he knew the lone freckle on the tip of Jeremy’s right ear, which was Jean’s first favorite freckle. His second favorite freckle was on Jeremy’s left ring finger, just above the plain gold band Jean had put there five years ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you,” Jean said softly. The words bubbled out on their own and Jean let them go, long past the need to temper his thoughts or worry about his meanings. Jeremy knew what he meant. Jeremy always knew. Always had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy’s fingers tightened in his own and Jean sighed, content to sit there basking in Jeremy, but also unsure if his legs were willing to carry him up the ten steps it would take to get in their house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what do you want to do now?” Jeremy asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now now, or like, for the rest of my life?” Jean replied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now now,” Jeremy said, rolling his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jeremy Knox, you are mistaken if you think I am going to believe that you have not planned out the entire rest of this evening for me,” Jean scoffed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yeah. It’s your birthday. It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> birthday, even. Of course I made a plan, you cheeky bastard. But. Well. It’s your birthday. So we can do whatever you want.” Jeremy hesitated. “I know this is all...a lot. What do you need? I mean, how are you feeling?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I feel…” Jean hesitated too, because he wasn’t sure. His body hurt and he was tired - or more accurately his body was tired; he felt wide awake. He felt…”I feel good,” he said, surprising himself. “Obviously everything hurts and the only reason I know that my legs are still attached is because they are throbbing so viciously, but fuck Jeremy. I feel...light. I feel like I am in a dream, but my body has never hurt this much in a dream, so I’m not actually dreaming am I?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you are dreaming I am there with you, love,” Jeremy said, rubbing a thumb over his scarred knuckles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean didn’t say that all of his best dreams had Jeremy in them, whether he was awake or sleeping. Instead he said, “Tell me your birthday plans for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d say it was more birthday plans coupled with plans for when you destroyed your legs tonight. So. Bath, massage, Thai take out, blow job, cake, old episodes of Buffy...not necessarily in that order.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean hummed and blushed a little - because the bane of Jean’s existence was that he blushed at any mention of sex like he was a twelve year old boy. Jeremy grinned at him because Jeremy thought Jean’s blushing affliction was adorable, which he had told Jean on more than one occasion. “I want all of that,” Jean said. “That is exactly what I want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Order?” Jeremy asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just want to make me say it,” Jean frowned at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh I do. Absolutely, yes,” Jeremy agreed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. Bath, massage, Thai, Buffy, cake,” Jean said, holding up a finger when Jeremy started to protest and he felt his whole face heat up with what he was about to say. “And for the first two things I want you naked and your mouth on me just as much as your hands, and if I can convince my muscles to move, you just might get a blow job out of it too.” By the time he was done Jean felt like his cheeks were on fire, but it was worth it because Jeremy’s bottom lip had dropped open in shock and he surged forward to kiss him. Jeremy’s lips and tongue were just as hot as Jean’s face and they melted together, all breath and muted annoyance at the console that was keeping them apart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brat,” Jeremy huffed against his lips when they pulled apart. “If you ever manage to truly dirty talk I think you might kill me. Inside? I’ll carry you up the stairs if I have to.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Inside,” Jean agreed, running his tongue along Jeremy’s bottom lip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They finally got out of the car, and Jean’s legs balked at the stairs. “Up!” Jeremy commanded from behind him, grabbing his ass and pushing, and Jean startled enough to laugh his way up the stairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inside was warm and welcoming - Jeremy had left some lights on and had clearly cleaned after Jean had left for the game. It had been luck that put the championship match on their home turf, that they got to come back and sleep in their own bed tonight instead of a sterile hotel room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kevin and Neil had been with the Wolverines for five years, but Jean and Andrew had been there longer, recruited ten years ago, just after Jeremy had been forced to quit playing. They’d bought the brownstone in Brooklyn then, just a fifteen minute drive from the stadium if they were lucky with traffic, and Andrew - unfettered by a Moriyama tithe - had bought a matching one across the street, with enough room for Neil and Kevin in the off season. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean loved this house dearly, and he and Jeremy had made it their own over the last ten years. They went for comfort and meaning instead of aesthetic, and when they had gotten married in their own living room, they'd had their guests scrawl their names in sharpie along the kitchen wall in lieu of a guestbook. Renee had teasingly said they’d stumbled headfirst into the hygge lifestyle when she and Robin had come to visit last year. Jean looked it up after they left - it meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>well being,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the idea of comfort and pleasure combined. Jean had stared at the screen at the time, realizing that somehow that perfectly described his life with Jeremy and the home they had created.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy dropped Jean’s bag inside the door and smiled, grabbed Jean’s hand and tugged. “Can you make it one more set of stairs?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Jean said, but he went, Jeremy behind him, both hands planted on his ass again as he pushed Jean up and up to the second floor and into the master bathroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy had already set things up - bottles of epsom salt and eucalyptus bubble bath lined up on the side of their oversized soaking tub, a stack of fluffy blue towels perched on a stool nearby. Jeremy had even put the little Bose bluetooth speaker they normally kept in the kitchen on the edge of the sink, and after fiddling with his phone the first few notes of Wax Poetic’s Istanbul album drifted out across their marble tiles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is...” Jean trailed off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy shrugged. “It’s your birthday, and I love you. So, strip.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean laughed and stripped while Jeremy started filling the tub, pouring in the salts and the emerald colored bubble bath, and then Jeremy kicked off his jeans, tugged off the Wolverine hoodie (Jean’s) that he’d worn to the game. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Front or back?” he asked Jean. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Back,” Jean decided with little hesitation. Jeremy was a good six inches shorter than him, and while he was muscular, he was less broad, less bulky than Jean. They didn’t crawl into the tub together often, but when they did, Jeremy just fit better in front. And, if he was being honest, Jean really just wanted to wrap his arms and legs around the blond, bronzed miracle that was his husband. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean sank carefully into the astringent bubbles, unable to stop the sigh that escaped his mouth as the heat enveloped his exhausted muscles. Jeremy stepped in carefully after him, tucking himself in front of Jean, and turning down the stream of water to a trickle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With both of them in the tub the water level had risen to the cusp, and bubbles were attacking Jean’s face. “Ready?” Jeremy asked, and Jean stretched his long legs out on either side of him, opened his arms, and said, “Always.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy leaned back, and the first press of his naked skin to Jean’s in the warmth of the water was divine. Jean wrapped his arms around him and closed his eyes, the soothing beat of Wax Poetic washing over them as Jeremy ran firm hands up and down the corded muscles of Jean’s thighs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, actually I’m pretty sure we are asleep. This is a dream,” Jean murmured. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy chuckled and let his head fall back on Jean’s shoulder. “No my love, this is our life. We fought for it and it is ours. It is well and truly ours now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean kissed his agreement into Jeremy’s neck, his earlobe, seeking out his first favorite freckle, letting the water and the salts and the eucalyptus do their job until they were wrinkled and pruny, until the hot water was running out and the Istanbul album was almost over. The whole time Jeremy’s hands kneaded softly, gently, working up and down Jean’s legs, and Jeremy loved him, loved this man, loved with his whole heart in a way he’d never known he could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hot water had turned Jean’s throbbing aches to a dull annoyance, but the ache was still there, would be there for days. He knew the bath was the best thing they could do, second only to Jeremy’s magic hands - which were coming next. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After his knee was ruined, Jeremy had returned to school, getting his graduate degree and credentials to work as a physical therapist rehabbing sports injuries for professional athletes. Jean had worried that the work - working so closely with athletes that had a chance to make it back to their playing field of choice - would just make Jeremy bitter. But it hadn’t. His Sunshine Boy of a husband found joy and peace in piecing together the hopes and dreams of other athletes, of coming home and keeping Jean pieced together as well, whole enough to return to the court again and again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tonight, Jeremy toweled him off gently, peppering soft, warm kisses on his collarbones, his shoulders, along the scars on his chest and stomach as he dried him. He pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of Jean’s thigh, then his sore knee, before leading him to their bedroom, the both of them still naked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean sat on the edge of their king size bed, the feather duvet and soft washed silk blankets billowing around him as he sank into the memory foam mattress. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Front or back?” Jeremy asked for the second time that night, standing naked in front of Jean. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kiss me,” Jean said instead, and Jeremy didn’t hesitate, stepping between his legs. Jean tilted his face up to meet Jeremy’s, their lips coming together, their eyes closing, and Jean gave himself over to the waking dream that was this day. Jeremy’s fingers tangled in his damp hair, kissing him and kissing him, but then he was working strong fingertips down his neck, into his trapezius, and as good as the kiss was Jean had to break away to groan and drop his chin to his chest, stretching the muscles up into Jeremy’s hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah I thought so,” Jeremy said with a soft chuckle. “Back first then.” With that he manhandled Jean around and Jean let him, couldn’t protest if he’d wanted to (and he didn’t want to). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy arranged him how he wanted him on the bed, and then grabbed something from the side table. Jean heard the snap of a plastic cap and for a moment his dick got confused, mistaking the sound for a lube bottle, and it twitched against the bedspread. Jean shifted minutely, but Jeremy must have caught it because he huffed a laugh and started dripping warm massage oil onto Jean’s back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy’s hands were probably Jean’s number one favorite thing if he had to make a list. Specifically, Jeremy’s hands on him. Jeremy soothed long, smooth strokes down the muscles on either side of Jean’s spine, pushing Jean’s arms long, stretching him and moving him and pressing him and putting everything back to rights. Jeremy worked the tight muscles that bunched up around his rotator cuff, pulled his biceps like warm taffy, worked his way back up his arms and then down to Jean’s lower back, knuckles and fingers kneading his ass. Jean hummed and sighed and melted like butter in the sun into the mattress. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Jeremy reached Jean’s thighs his touch changed, lightened, and he pressed long strokes into the muscle, not lingering in any one place. Jeremy knew how Jean squatted low on court to explode after opposing strikers, how his hamstrings and quads were constantly flexed and ready to launch him in any direction, how his calves were strung tight, how his arches cramped from the weight, from the constant demand on his body. Jeremy worked his fingers soothingly, lengthening, the oil gliding along Jean’s skin and keeping Jeremy’s fingertips from catching in the dark hair on his legs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At some point Jeremy had switched the playlist to Morcheeba, although Jean had no idea when. Jeremy worked his way down to Jean’s feet, digging his thumbs into his sore arches, and Jean groaned in time with the music. Jeremy pressed his hands flat then, ran them firm and warm up Jean’s body, followed behind them, his cock grazing against Jean’s ass briefly before he kissed the back of Jean’s neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lingering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sweetly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lovingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Over,” Jeremy commanded in his ear, and Jean obeyed, rolling over slowly, unapologetic when Jeremy’s gaze dropped to his half-hard cock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy was sitting on his heels, looking down at Jean, golden and soft in the light of their bedside lamps. “Oh really?” he said, with just the hint of smirk on his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean felt languid and warm and happy and he flicked his gaze to Jeremy’s dick, which was in a similar state. “I’m adjusting the order of operations by executive order,” Jean said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, executive power bestowed by the birthday gods?” Jeremy asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Jean agreed, reaching out a hand for Jeremy’s. “C’mere,” he said, and Jeremy didn’t have to be asked twice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He crawled up Jean’s body and straddled him, and they both moaned a little as Jeremy settled. Jean reached down to adjust them so their cocks were aligned, and Jean swallowed Jeremy’s tiny gasp at that move as his tongue swept them both into a heated and messy kiss. Jeremy started to work his way down Jean’s body, hands tucked under his ribs, lips on his neck, and Jean tried to tug him back up to his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want, love?” Jeremy whispered in Jean’s ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Want to keep kissing you,” Jean said softly, molding his hands to the broad expanse of Jeremy’s back, tucking kisses into the crook of his neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, I can do that, just, hold on a minute,” Jeremy murmured, kissing his way down again, and Jean groaned and stretched underneath him, tangling the calloused fingers of one hand in the curls of Jeremy’s hair. Jeremy kissed around his hipbones and the crook of his thigh, before suddenly and wetly taking Jean’s whole cock into his mouth, and Jean would have bucked off the bed if his exhausted legs would have let him, but instead he groaned out one long, low </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> and yeah, he was fucking hard now, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy swirled his tongue once, twice, and then pulled off and up, climbing back up Jean’s body and kissing him deeply until Jean couldn’t breathe and really, who needed air anyway? He pulled back a little, his pupils blown wide open, his breath short, and Jean thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love him, I love him, I love him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then, while innocently gazing into Jean’s eyes, Jeremy spit into his palm and grinned. Jean thought he might come right then, and he almost did when Jeremy wrapped his strong, warm, wet hand around both their cocks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh god,” Jean said, his eyes rolling up a little bit as Jeremy stroked them and kissed him and kissed him and stroked them, and it was everything, it was everything, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> was everything -  Jeremy’s mouth and his dick and his hands and their bed in their house, and he was floating away and grounded all at once by the love, the warmth, the slide of Jeremy’s skin covered in a sheen of oil. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy pulled away slightly, his thighs tensing on either side of Jean’s, and Jean knew what that meant, knew Jeremy’s body better than he knew his own. Jeremy always came first. Jean would tease him about it later but now, he wanted to see. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy sat up, chasing his breath. He had let them go, stopped his orgasm and Jean shook his head. “No my love, let me see. You go. Come for me, that’s what I want,” Jean said reverently, and then he watched in awe as his husband placed one hand on Jean’s chest and wrapped the other hand around his dick. Jeremy watched Jean’s face intently through heavily lidded eyes as he stroked himself slowly, steadily, until his thighs tensed again and his eyes fluttered closed and he came in sticky stripes across Jean’s belly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy dropped down on Jean’s chest, uncaring about the mess, and tucked his face into Jean’s neck, kissing and humming and huffing laughter into his skin, but then he was gone again, and his mouth was on Jean’s skin, just like Jean had asked for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy’s lips might be Jean’s second favorite thing on that list he was making - his mouth was wide, his bottom lip plush, a small scar from a rogue exy racket pulling at the edge of his upper lip. It was a good mouth, and Jeremy was using it to lick his way down Jean’s ribs, and Jean belatedly realized Jeremy had put his other hand in his own cum, had smeared it up Jean’s chest, and that...shouldn’t have been hot, should it? They kept hand towels in their bedside table for this sort of thing, but Jeremy was undeterred, and he nipped Jean’s hipbone lightly, winked at Jean, and then licked a wide stripe up the underside of his dick, and suddenly Jean wasn’t thinking about messes at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy sucked at the tip of Jean’s cock, long fingers wrapped around the base, and Jean let his head fall back, let his eyes close, didn’t fight the moan that spilled out of his mouth. Jeremy hummed his happiness at the noise and then bobbed down over Jean’s cock, twisted his hand just so, just the way Jean liked, because Jeremy </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d had years to learn each other, the subtle ways to take each other apart when they wanted, to put each other back together when they needed. Jeremy’s orgasms came on him quick and effervescent; Jean’s were shy though, reticent. It had always been harder for him to relax, to let go, to give himself over to pleasure wantonly, but god fucking bless him, Jeremy was patient. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean squirmed a little as Jeremy gripped his hips just then, hooked his thumbs into Jean’s hip bones, and then swallowed him deep, Jean’s cock hitting the back of Jeremy’s throat. A moan ripped out of him again as Jeremy sucked him hard, then pulled off slowly, paused at the tip again, and then buried Jean’s cock deep in his mouth again, and then again, and again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Relentless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Loving. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was so close, and he knew Jeremy could feel it because he slowed down, the bastard. Jean gasped when Jeremy released him, let him catch his heartbeat for a moment, licking lazily at the tip of his dick and Jean groaned, pried his head off the pillow to look down at his imp of a husband grinning up at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Watch me,” Jeremy hummed against Jean’s dick, and Jean gazed at him as he wrapped those devilish fingers around him again, took the head in his mouth, and did the swirl of the tongue and twist of the hand thing that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> would shatter Jean’s control. Jean’s orgasm was hovering there, brewing, waiting to tip him euphoric over the edge and into Jeremy, always Jeremy, forever Jeremy, and- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-it swept through him, curled his toes, and he wanted to fling his head back but he kept his eyes locked with Jeremy’s, watched him, watched him as he’d asked, Jeremy’s lips wrapped around his cock, Jeremy’s eyes wide and blown and staring him down, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck it was hot.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy chased after Jean’s orgasm with his mouth, with his tongue, swallowing, and that - that wasn’t something they did much anymore, and that was fucking hot too and </span>
  <em>
    <span>jesus fucking christ.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jean plunged his hands into Jeremy’s hair, and Jeremy finally released him with one more slow, long lick that sent Jean shuddering helplessly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They lay there, Jeremy’s head pillowed on Jean’s thigh, breathing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was,” Jean started, after many minutes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Jeremy said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Messy,” Jean finished. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy laughed, sitting up. “Are you complaining?” he asked, amused. He hovered over Jean now and Jean leaned up to kiss him hungrily, pulling him close, licking between his lips and tasting himself in Jeremy’s mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does that seem like complaining to you?” Jean whispered as huskily as he could before letting his head flop back with a happy sigh. “I feel like a - what does Allison call it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy kissed the corner of his mouth. “A pillow princess?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes that,” Jean said around his teeth as he bit Jeremy’s jaw gently. “I recall that I had aspirations of sucking your dick tonight, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You must be blissed out - you didn’t even blush,” Jeremy said, pulling back to look at him, which did make Jean blush, and Jeremy laughed at him fondly. “You can have a turn tomorrow, promise.” He tucked Jean’s hair behind his ears, first one side and then the other, tracing his finger down the side of Jean’s face before sitting back on his heels again and reaching for one of their towels and the bottle of oil. “Okay now, are you ready for the other half of your sandwich?” he asked, eyes twinkling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean raised an eyebrow. “Sandwich?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep,” Jeremy said, and from the look on his face Jean already knew he was going to regret asking for clarification. “Your sex sandwich - massage on one side, sex in the middle, massage on the other side,” he smirked, wiping at Jean’s stomach and then his own with the towel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean groaned. “That is just, truly awful. It doesn’t even make sense.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It makes perfect sense,” Jeremy countered, and he poured oil in his hands, warming it up between his palms. “Now close your eyes and be quiet and let me work,” he ordered, pressing his hands into Jean’s thighs, and Jean, as always, did what his husband told him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After Jeremy was done with him, Jean declared that he absolutely couldn’t move, but Jeremy bullied him into the shower to rinse off the oil, and Jean bullied him right back into joining him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They got distracted by kisses, letting the water spray over them, and it was soft and sweet and happy, and they only turned the water off when Jean admitted his legs were about to make him sit down on the tile floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy toweled him off again, shushing him with more kisses when he protested, and then they were bundled in their old, soft, threadbare Trojan sweats, their legs tangled together on the oversized leather sofa - the one Jeremy had said cost more than his first car when they’d bought it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeremy ordered food, and they scrolled through Hulu to pick a Buffy episode while they waited for it to arrive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about season three?” Jeremy asked. “That way we’ll get Faith and Angel.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean considered. “But no Spike.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit,” Jeremy said. “Oh wait, but season three has Oz.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I forgot about Oz,” Jean said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How could you forget about Oz?” Jeremy feigned horror. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean smiled and kicked him in the ribs. “Season three it is then, you nerd.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes but you like nerds,” Jeremy said, beaming at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He did like nerds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, he liked Jeremy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The food came halfway through the first episode and they ate themselves silly, Jean realizing he was starving as soon as he could smell the curry and pad Thai. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They watched Buffy and Willow and Zander fight vampires, and then there was cake - spice cake, no icing, with a single candle. The flame flickered merrily between them, Buffy paused on the TV. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Make a wish,” Jeremy said, after he’d butchered a rendition of Happy Birthday. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean took a breath and then paused. Blinked. Stared at his husband as the candlelight danced across his cheeks, his nose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean realized suddenly that he didn’t have anything to wish for. He was done with the Moriyamas, done with exy. He never had to pick up a racket again, and he had a whole life still in front of him to do with what he wished. Tomorrow, they would have dinner with their best friends - Andrew cooking and Neil grinning and Kevin quietly happy. Tomorrow, Jean and Jeremy would talk and make plans. Tomorrow, maybe, they’d finally get a dog - without the Wolverine’s travel schedule they finally could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In fact, there wasn’t a thing that Jean couldn’t do now, and somehow - </span>
  <em>
    <span>somehow</span>
  </em>
  <span> -  he gets to do it with Jeremy at his side. To wake up to Jeremy’s face every morning. To kiss him and argue with him and watch bad TV with him. Jean gets to love him, and somehow - </span>
  <em>
    <span>somehow</span>
  </em>
  <span> - Jean gets to know that he is loved in return. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In fact, Jean realized, right now, in this moment, everything was well and truly right in his life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jean smiled softly, and blew out his candle. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hit me up on tumblr - <a href="https://justadreamfox.tumblr.com/">justadreamfox</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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